silence, it will be fleeting,
your time or what is left;
memory of your will,
will slowly fade;
as for bleeding,
well that is just for effect;
some look black,
some red, yellow or white;
in the end they all frolic,
in the midst of the dead;
the darkness there,
well that is gone forever;
your echo, is only,
the scream of humanity’s voice;
in the mind, within its chambers,
is trapped enlightenment;
some light will always come,
my light will last forever;
but I say, in the end,
all are locked together in time;
clouds row overhead,
thunder and lightning clash;
leaving my bed, in mother’s garden,
laughing in the wet;
the silence is, golden,
your goodbyes, are said and done;
the storm, it will blow over,
when we will find where it plays.
Michael Darrell Walker